Personal Battle
by DeathDaisy
Summary: Was this how he felt? That many years ago.


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**AN: You know what? its not even worth it to look up when was the last time Damon and Stefan last saw each other, that timeline is too...mehh :P for lack of better words.**

**Alright, once thats out of the way, HI! this little thing practically wrote itself out after watching Birdsong. awe. i was a tad shocked to realize that lexi did practically ship him off to WWII..same time as Birdsong...*cough***

**anyways, as always,**

**ENJOY!**

**.**

Was this how he felt? That many years ago.

Stefan closed his eyes as he clenched his fists at the sounds of bombs dropping near the place they called their base.

He closed his eyes, feeling like a little kid again, afraid to open them, afraid of what lay behind his closed eyelids.

Whenever he had a nightmare as a child, he'd go to him. He'd go to Damon who'd coax him back into sleep one way or the other.

Was this how his older brother felt? Being shipped off to war without his own approval. Because their father forced him to?

He tried to relax, he tried to breath.

Even as a vampire he's afraid of the war. How did Damon handle it? how did he? knowing that any stray silver bullet could mean the end of his existence. How could he sleep at night, knowing that the enemy might attack any second now.

He didn't blame him for not showing up as planned. To be frank, at the beginning he did, after they made a promise to fight side by side, he bailed on him. it was only lexi on his side now, on the side which waved goodbye.

He took an uneven breath. After 2 very long weeks here, not that he knew where here was anymore, he understood why his brother didn't want to return to this, to this bloodshed, to the tears, the bullets, the wounds.

He didn't blame him anymore.

He wouldn't want to come back here for as long as he lived. And in his case, a simple silver bullet would not cause, if any, damage at all.

He tried to put himself in Damon's shoes back then. He imagined him, with an old rifle, station for a watch, keeping his eyes peered open.

No wonder when he came back to visit them at mystic falls he didn't want to return, who would want to come back to this? To this chaos.

Even he'd rather be called a deserter and having mutters follow him where ever he went rather than being stuck _here_.

Here on the frontlines, he didn't care anymore, he wanted to be anywhere but here, even if it meant letting lexi down.

Even if it meant letting Damon down. This place, wasn't for him. Too much blood didn't help his case.

He remembered his friend, getting shot with what looked like at least eight bullets, thrown a mile off by an accidental mine exploding. He remembered the crimson dyed sand. He remembered laying eyes on something he never thought he'd see.

A clear view into the man's internal organs, mangled with blood and sand. He saw how his lungs where struggling with breath, he saw how his ribs where cracked into a mess.

How great he lusted for that crimson liquid, even if it was mixed with the earth bellow it. How much it took him not to finish off the man himself.

Men were dying left and right. This was no place for friendships, any person might die at any given second. He got close to men. Men who died. Men who are dying.

He shook his head violently, snapping his eyes back open.

What was lexi trying to teach him? What was the moral of the story here? That war is bad? That lives are lost left and right for what? For what did all these men lose their lives?

But.

But, wasn't that what he did? Killed with the mercy of a marble man. Mothers, Fathers, Husbands, Wives, Daughters, Sons.

Loved ones.

All lost because of him. Because of his lust for the red liquid running in their veins. For all those hearts that stopped beating, were hearts he broke.

He didn't realize he was shaking until a sob wrenched its way out of his chest.

This was it.

This is what Lexi tried to teach him. was it?

That this terrible, terrible war of death was no different to him. That they where one in their aims.

The thought made him sick, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Guilt and grief ran in his bloodstream like fire to a dry tree.

He couldn't move on with his life like this. He needed change.

Big change.

In a blink of his eye, the man who stood there, stood no more. just a loaded rifle on the sandy floor.


End file.
